


The Performance

by dreamsofspike



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Written for this prompt: undercover as a dom/sub, which they really are, but Peter is posing as a specific criminal known for being incredibly hard on his subs so he has to publicly punish Neal when Neal is caught doing something.Warnings: dom/sub, unhealthy dynamics, humiliation, violence, corporal discipline





	

It's dark in the back of the room where Peter stands - really, the entire room except for the small stage at the front, where a disturbing display is currently taking place. Even from this distance, Peter can see the panic in the eyes of the young man strapped down for the amusement of his master, and the audience. The boy is gagged, but Peter is certain that if he could, he'd voice his protest - unless that instinct has already been driven from him by his master's abuse.   
  
Peter feels sick. He can't imagine ever treating a submissive this way, no matter what his cover persona would do.   
  
He glances around uneasily, grateful for the darkness that hides his discomfort from the rest of the audience. He wonders what's taking Neal so long. Just a quick visit to the deserted office of the man hosting this event, a few quick pictures saved into his phone, and they're out of here. It shouldn't be taking so long.   
  
A commotion from near the door draws Peter's attention, as well as that of others, and Peter's heart sinks when he sees Neal being hauled into the room by the leather collar around his neck, choked and dragged and roughly handled in a way that Peter would never touch him, by the very man they're targeting, the suspect in their case.   
  
Visibly furious, he throws Neal down to the floor at Peter's feet. Those guests nearest to them fall silent, and it's a silence that spreads, until Peter can feel the attention of the entire room focusing in to a pinpoint, a spotlight, centered right on him and Neal, and the accusing glare of their host as he jabs an angry finger toward Neal and voices his outrage.   
  
"Your boy was in my office, going through my things. I thought your slaves were better trained than this." His eyes narrow, and he turns his glare on Peter, eyes narrowed. "Unless of course he's _perfectly_ trained. Unless of course... he was acting on your orders..."   
  
"I didn't come here to be insulted," Peter replies, his voice low and warning and perfectly controlled. "Of course he wasn't acting on my orders. I have no idea what he was doing in there."   
  
Peter can feel their eyes watching, their expectations rising, and his heart sinks, because he knows the reputation that precedes him here. He knows that letting Neal get away with such an offense will certainly blow their cover in an instant, and possibly cost them both their lives. He looks down and meets Neal's gaze, and sees there, just barely beneath the trapped expression of fear and pleading... _trust_.   
  
And in that instant, he knows what he has to do. Even if it hurts them both. Even if it's something they can't get past, when all is said and done.   
  
Neal's trusting Peter to do whatever he _has to do_... to get him out of here alive.   
  
He crouches down in front of Neal, his expression as hard as the hand he uses to grasp Neal's jaw and force his head up, as he snarls, "You'd better have an explanation for this, boy."

Neal drops his gaze, his voice soft and timid, as he offers a hesitant response. "I - I just got lost, Master," he insists. "I was looking for a bathroom, and I saw the door and it was the wrong room..."  
  
"Liar," their target cuts him off, his tone matter of fact. "My desk drawer was open and his hand was inside it." He pauses, giving Peter a cold smirk as he adds, "If he were _my_ boy, he'd be lucky to ever be able to use that hand again."   
  
Peter ignores him, keeping his attention focused on Neal. "Are you lying to me, boy?" His voice is quiet, threatening.   
  
Neal swallows hard, visibly, and tears well in his crystal blue eyes as he looks up at Peter, pleading. "No, Master. I - I did go to find the bathroom, and I did go into the wrong room by mistake, but... but then I realized where I was, and... and I was curious. I just wanted to look, I wasn't going to take anything, I - I'm sorry, it was stupid and wrong and I'm an idiot and I'll never..."   
  
"Shut up." Peter's voice is quiet, utterly calm, and Neal instantly falls silent.   
  
Peter releases his grip on Neal's jaw, standing up straight and glaring down at him with an expression of disgust. He's quiet and still for a moment before lashing out with a powerful backhand blow across Neal's face that strikes him to the floor.   
  
"Your _curiosity_ may have just cost me my continued invitation here, you worthless little slut."   
  
Peter's words are cold and hard, and he punctuates them with a vicious kick to Neal's ribs. Neal wraps an arm around his torso, coughing and choking, and Peter leans down over him again, grasping a handful of thick, dark hair and dragging his head up. As he shifts near enough, Peter is relieved to feel the slight pressure of Neal's hand slipping into his pocket for just a moment - knows that Neal's just deposited the cell phone, hopefully complete with evidence. But Peter would never know it just by looking at Neal. His eyes are wide with terror, his face streaked with tears, but Peter feels his head move slightly within Peter's grasp - an imperceptible nod of consent.   
  
Neal knows what Peter's doing, and he understands.   
  
Peter stands up straight again without releasing his grip on Neal's hair. He knows it's painful, but everyone else knows it too, and that's the point. He laughs a little, meeting the eyes of their target, relieved to see amusement in the man's gaze as he raises his eyebrows and waits for Peter to explain his reaction.   
  
"Maybe I can make it up to you with a little show. Is the stage available?"   
  
"Oh, trust me, it is now!" the man replies, moving through the crowd that parts for him readily, leading Peter and Neal, who is forced to crawl on his hands and knees as Peter drags him, across the room and to the raised platform that waits, now empty and ready for them.   
  
There's a metal framework on the stage, equipped with movable restraints that can be adjusted to the height and build of various occupants, and Peter stops once Neal is directly in front of it. Neal pulls back a little against Peter's grip, shaking his head, his voice trembling and desperate.   
  
"Please, Master... no, please..."   
  
Peter slaps him again, and then crouches down, a firm hand at the back of his head as he leans in to speak close to Neal's ear. He knows their audience will assume it's a threat, a dark warning to obedience intended only for the ears of his slave. But Peter's words are gentle, reassuring, as he whispers against Neal's ear.   
  
"I'm going to get us out of this, okay? Just trust me. It's not going to be fun, but I won't let it go too far. All right?"   
  
Neal nods shakily, his head bowed, voice tearful and pleading. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master. I-I'll be good, Master."   
  
"You'd better," Peter snarls, stepping back and snapping his fingers and raising them at the same time in front of Neal's face.   
  
Neal immediately rises to his feet, though he keeps his head bowed, his eyes on the floor at Peter's feet.   
  
Peter yanks him forward by the collar around his throat until he's standing in the center of the metal frame, and then straps his wrists and ankles into the restraints, so that he's standing spread-eagle, his bare back and thighs exposed and vulnerable to the punishment to come.   
  
Peter hears the expectant, excited murmurs of his audience as he approaches the table laden with implements of punishment, his heart racing, his stomach roiling as he tries to imagine using any of these things against Neal.   
  
He can't - but he's going to have to.

Aware of the impatient tone the crowd's whispers have taken on, Peter makes his selection - a simple leather strap that he knows will leave welts on Neal's skin, but won't break it. He'll feel it for weeks, but it won't scar, won't even bruise if Peter is careful. It's not the physical injuries that Peter is afraid of inflicting. He's afraid of the damage this might do to their relationship, long after they've escaped this dangerous situation.   
  
He doesn't hit Neal. Ever.   
  
Neal's submissive to him, yes. And there are occasional punishments required.   
  
After all... it's _Neal_.   
  
But Peter knows the secrets Neal's never shared with another soul, knows about childhood traumas and brutal attacks in prison and situations in various cons when Neal couldn't manage to get out unscathed. He knows that Neal has never wanted to associate their relationship with those painful memories - and until now, Peter has never had to give him reason to blur the lines between Peter's control over him, and the terrifying losses of control in his past life.   
  
Peter swallows back the hard knot in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment and silently praying that they'll be able to get through this, and past it, and that Neal will be able to forgive him for what he's about to do.   
  
The lash comes down, hard and sharp against Neal's shoulder, and Neal's body jerks against the bonds as he bites back a pained whimper. Peter wants to weep, but he can't allow that to show. He has to be convincing, has to put on a believable show so that these people will continue to see him as the dangerous, menacing man he claims to be, and not have any reason to suspect that he might not be who he says he is.   
  
_Twenty's enough_ , he decides, even though he feels sick at the thought. _Twenty should convince them without doing too much damage..._  
  
He does his best to distribute the lashes so that he's never striking the same place twice, ten across Neal's back, and then ten across his thighs. Neal keeps it together through the first ten. It's the last ten that leave him shivering with pain, his breath short and sharp, soft, gasping little sobs escaping his lips. Peter moves around in front of him to touch his face, and nearly breaks when Neal flinches away from his hand.   
  
Instead of embracing him and pleading for forgiveness, Peter forces himself to grasp Neal's face hard and hold it in place.   
  
"You need more, boy?" he demands, cold and threatening.   
  
"No, Master," Neal sobs. "I'm sorry, Master..."   
  
Peter wishes Neal weren't so convincing an actor - wishes he had any idea how much of this is performance, and how much is reality.   
  
"Pull away from me again," Peter snarls.   
  
"I'm sorry," Neal gasps out, still and pliant within Peter's grasp. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."   
  
Peter holds him a moment longer before releasing his grip, and moving to unfasten the restraints. The moment they're loose, Neal folds to his knees at Peter's feet, his head resting against the top of Peter's black leather shoe, his hands shaking against Peter's leg.   
  
"I'm sorry," Peter says softly, his chest aching with regret, eyes locked onto Neal's broken, submissive posture - for only a moment before he looks up to meet the eyes of their suspect, directing the words toward him instead. "I can assure you it won't happen again."   
  
"I can see that."   
  
The man nods, a cruel smirk on his lips as he looks down at Neal, openly allowing his eyes to feast on Neal's perfect body, and the pattern of red, livid marks Peter's left across the canvas of his skin. Peter wants to punch him, wants to wipe that smirk off his lips and that obscene gaze off _his boy_...  
  
Instead, Peter forces a matching cold smile to his lips, before reaching down to grasp Neal's collar and pull him to his feet. He leads his quiet, utterly pliant boy to their assigned seats near the back of the room, where they sit for a few minutes as someone else, master and slave, takes the stage.

Peter makes his excuses at the very first moment that he can, and can't get Neal out of that place, and to the safety of the car waiting for them, fast enough.

Peter barely dares to touch Neal at first, once they're behind privacy glass, in the quiet darkness of the car as it carries them closer to home. Finally, he reaches out a cautious hand to rest over Neal's on the seat between them.   
  
"I - I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice thick and heavy with his guilt.   
  
Instantly, Neal closes the distance between them, drawing his knees up onto the seat and turning into Peter's side, burying his face against Peter's neck. Peter can feel his body shaking, feel the desperation in his hands as they cling to the soft fabric of Peter's jacket. He closes his eyes against the burning tears that slide down his face, and raises a hand to gently cup the back of Neal's head, holding him close.   
  
"I'm sorry, baby," he repeats, cradling Neal close in his arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to..."   
  
Neal just presses in closer, as if he can't get near enough to Peter to satisfy his desperate need for safety and reassurance. Peter shifts and maneuvers until Neal is practically in his lap, careful to avoid touching his injuries, and kisses the side of his neck, running soothing fingers through his hair, just holding him and rocking a little, whispering gentle words of promise and apology against Neal's skin until he feels Neal's trembling begin to ease, feels the weight of his body as finally, finally he relaxes against Peter.   
  
"I didn't know what else to do," Peter whispers, his heart aching with regret. "I had to get us out of there without them suspecting..."   
  
"I know," Neal replies, looking up finally to meet Peter's eyes, and Peter is amazed to see no resentment or anger there. "Peter, _I know_."   
  
Neal's eyes are wet with tears, and he looks a little hazy, shell-shocked maybe - but he doesn't look afraid anymore. In fact, there's just exhaustion and relief on his face as he gazes up at Peter - and the trust that remains there, in spite of everything, is breathtaking.  
  
"You did what you had to," Neal whispers, resting his head against Peter's shoulder. "And you saved us. Th-thank you."   
  
Peter can hardly speak for relief, for how grateful he is for the love and trust Neal has placed in him - and the fact that tonight hasn't broken them. He holds Neal in silence, stroking his fingers gently through Neal's hair until he feels his body go slack, relaxing against him as Neal drifts off to sleep. They'll be home in a few minutes, Peter reminds himself, finally _breathing_ for the first time in what feels like days - and this whole nightmare evening will be behind them.


End file.
